If Only We Knew
by Surgical Rose
Summary: This is my entry for the Hetapocalypse favourite moment contest! I hope you enjoy and it's rate "T" for safety and because of some of the descriptions might be a little unpleasant. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated and encouraged!


Hi! This is my entry for Schwer-von-Begriff's favourite moment Hetapocalypse contest. This is my first time writing something proper in the Hetalia fandom, so criticism and reviews are greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Hetapocalypse. They belong to their respective owners.

* * *

'_...And so Japan left us... And we didn't realise the mistake we made.'_

The Japanese man spun around on his heels, his blade slicing through mounds of mangled limbs with haste. He knew that he couldn't last any longer. Luckily though, he felt relieved that Germany had agreed to take Italy and travel towards the town centre. He wasn't sure if Italy would be able to handle the chaos that would be unfolding before his innocent, hazel eyes. Japan knew it was selfish of him to think this way, but at least he could die knowing that Germany was still around to protect Italy.

Behind him, a zombie lunged forward and scratched at his shoulder violently. Japan cried out in shock and drove the blade in between the zombie's shoulder joint. He twisted and jolted the blade around inside the joint, until the arm broke off with a sickening crack, "This is... Worse than I thought..." The nation breathed out, still surprised by the assault. Swinging his blade down, he made quick work of removing the zombie's head, "But I won't go down without a fight!" Satisfied with his work, he turned and faced the masses of undead steadily approaching him. Fiercely, he began swinging his blades to instigate a dangerous and risky dance of life and death, "This is only the beginning!"

_'If only we had heard that phrase... We would've known what to have expected... And we would've been there to help Japan...'_

* * *

Germany flicks his eyes towards the disturbed Italian and exhales gently, "Let's go now, Italy. Japan is able to protect himself if anything happens. He will be fine."

Italy merely nods slowly, his eyes glued to the direction Japan went in. Something was wrong. His gut screams at his instincts for not stopping Japan from wandering off alone. He wishes Japan didn't smile at him now. That rare, tiny smile and his comforting chocolate eyes alone just made the guilt that much harder to swallow.

Thick blankets of smothering fog littered the streets and the rain only existed to wash away any life that had remained in the small town square. Even the flowers that normally brought joy to the Italian, now sat as soggy masses of petals. The pathways were bare and the flickering street lights only added to the ominous scene.

_'This is all wrong_; the Italian thinks bitterly_, 'it feels like we're walking through a graveyard of a town. America's cities and towns ought to be full of life and filled with people like Japan, eagerly browsing through manga books and cute figurines; filled with people like Germany, huffing and puffing through the crowded streets to get to a meeting or sneaking into a bar for a quick breather and a strong beer with their brother. But now... Everything here is lifeless...'  
_  
Drowning in his thoughts, Italy doesn't realise the soft glow of light from the inside of the inn luring Germany and himself inside its arms, offering a promise of food, shelter and hopefully, England.

"Here we are." Germany sighs, slipping his drenched coat off his shoulders and draping it across the nearby coat rack. Quickly, he rips off his black gloves, grimacing at the feeling of the leather peeling away from his skin, "England said he would be here, right?"

Nervously, Italy glances around the inn, but began to feel his heart creep up into his throat when he saw no sign of emerald eyes, blonde bushy hair or a scowl that would be able to tell them what was going on, "Si! But... I can't see him. Where is he Germany?"

" I don't know." Germany grumbles, walking around the room and observing his surroundings critically, "Although this is definitely the inn."

The Italian's cold and numb fingers struggle with the buttons on his coat, as he spoke, "Maybe he went searching for us?"

The German pauses in thought briefly, before strolling back to the entrance, "I don't really think so, but it seems to be the only logical reason to him being absent." Softly, Germany bats the Italian's hands away from his coat and made quick work of the buttons.

"What should we do then, Germany?" Italy whispers, watching the buttons slip through the hole and reappear on the other side," Should we wait for him?"

"That's probably the only thing we can do..." Germany murmurs, after undoing the last button. He walks around the Italian and slowly removes the coat from him, before carefully hooking the soggy coat next to his own. Germany pulls a face at the growing puddle of rain water already beginning to pool at his feet.

Italy allows a giggle to rise up in his throat at the typical German's reaction, "And while we will be waiting for him, we can eat something, right?" He chirps merrily. Italy places his hands over his stomach in an exaggerated fashion, "I'm so hungry!"

Germany scoffs lightly and rolls his eyes, "...Well, this _is_ an inn after all. I suppose we can. Go and look if you can find something." Once he had finished speaking, he folds his arms and leans against the bar, enabling his mind to dip its toes into his accumulating thoughts, _'It's strange. There's no one here... Not a single person. I wonder why...'  
_  
Eagerly eyeing up the tall glass of apple juice, the Italian was about to bring the glass containing the sharp, yet sweet fluid to his lips when he notices the tiny fly centimetres away from his lips. He pulls the glass away and observes the floating insect corpse, "Poor fly..." To his surprise, something manages to bob up to the surface of the glass, "Oh! There's something in there!"

Without a second thought, he reaches his fingers in the glass and plucks the golf-ball sized object out of the glass. He screams when he realised the sticky, slimy object was staring directly at him!

"T-This is...!" He cries out in shock, feeling the glass to slip through his hand and shatter into tiny pieces, "Germany! It's so scary! Help me! Help me, Germanyyy!" He wails, tears pouring down his face.

Germany snaps out of his deep muse, when he hears the Italian scream and rushes over, "Italy, what happened?" The German stops himself, before he could touch Italy and frowns disapprovingly, "So... What is it this time!? Don't tell me you are joking again." He grumbles, massaging his forehead slowly with his fingers. He'd be damned if he was going to be fooled by a second, possibly sloppy attempt at a prank that clearly had Prussia's influence written all over it.

The frightened nation hiccups, his face pale and covered in a light sheen of cold sweat, "J-Joking...?" Germany quirks an eyebrow upwards and feels slightly impressed by the level of acting the Italian was putting himself through.

"I'm not dumb." He bluntly states, "That cloth covered in tomato sauce was a great prank idea for Halloween," He lectures, wagging his index finger, "but you aren't smart enough to fool me."

Surprised at the German's calm demeanour, Italy opens his mouth and tries to protest his honesty, "But I wasn't joking..." He received a loud scoff in response from Germany and a small irritated glint in his ice blue eyes.

"Of course you were! My brother showed you that little trick, didn't he?"

Italy was hurt. He sniffles and attempts to suppress the tears welling up, "No... Why are you so mean to me, Germany?" He whimpers and runs his sleeve and hands over his eyes, brushing away the, hot, sticky tears from slipping down his cheeks.

To his surprise, Germany's eyes widen a fraction and slowly felt a sinking feeling in his gut beginning to brew, "I'm mean?"

Trying hard to stifle his sobs, Italy grimaces and then shouts, "Yes, why are you so mean? You don't believe when I show you something? You think I'm a liar?" The Italian felt his cheeks burn with a red flush, but not from embarrassment or humiliation, no. It was anger.

Stepping back slightly, the German raises his hands carefully in defense, "I would never think of you as a liar... just..." He feels the hairs on the back of his neck bolt upright. He didn't mean to hesitate like that. He just wasn't used to thinking on the spot!

Snatching the cause of his hysteria off the table, Italy bitterly remarks, "But you _do_ think I am!" All of a sudden, the irritated and upset Italian steps forward and shoves the eyeball in Germany's face. He made sure the pupil was staring directly at him, "I can't lie about this, can I?" Italy huffs.

That one action was all it took to intensify the panicked look on Germany's face. He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice wavered. He tries pointing at the eye to communicate his fear, but his hands shake too fiercely and feel too heavy to even move them. Germany swallows thickly and breathes out, " ...An eye!? What...Why... What is it doing here!?" This wasn't good, the German thought to himself. He feels the breakfast he had to devour at twice his normal pace quickly rise to the opening of his mouth.

"I told you I wasn't lying!" The Italian shrieks, throwing the eyeball down on the table. The force of it causes the eyeball to make a sickening squelch against the wood as it bounces off. Italy, still trying to calm himself down, breathes heavily. He pauses and glimpses at Germany's face, "...Germany...?"

The German shook his head and hurriedly stumbles over to the bar counter, throws his head over the side and heaves the entire contents of his stomach on the floor. The acidic taste of weakness and Wurst burns his throat raw and the putrid after-taste settles unpleasantly between his taste buds. After coughing for a few moments, he shyly covers his mouth, blinking harshly and turns back to Italy and mumbles, "Everything...everything is okay." He coughs and feels the burning shame of his weak stomach rush to his face, "We should stop talking about this." Slowly, Germany sits down and raises a hand in defeat, "I don't... want to look at it again, okay?" He exhales shakily, "W-We should... Wait for England and then get the hell out of here."

Frowning and now seriously regretting his decision, the Italian nods and whispers a barely audible, "...Si." He didn't realise just how squeamish Germany was and feels disgusted that he not only picked up the eyeball once, but twice. A shudder to runs down his spine and he decides to wipe his hand down his trousers to rid his palm of the sticky combination of apple juice and eyeball gunk.

Whilst the German still breathes heavily to strive to rid himself of the memory that would be forever humiliating, the Italian gradually walks over and places his trembling hands on the German's shoulders. If what he just found wasn't enough fear for one day. There is still one more thing that shook the Italian to the very core.

Japan hadn't contacted them since he left them.

Sniffling once again, the Italian hugs Germany tightly from behind and sobs into his shoulder, "I-I'm so scared..." His voiced thought is answered by Germany nodding in agreement and placing a hand over Italy's.


End file.
